A Mystery, An Enigma
by CJAcrologic
Summary: Sherlock gets a visitor three years after his 'death'. He hasn't heard from her in five years, so what will happen when she just appears at HIS crime scene? Will explore questions like: Does John like Pop Tarts? And Does Moriarty eat McDonalds? JohnLock with an OC
1. Curt Introductions

**Chapter 1**

**Curt Introductions**

Sherlock was playing the violin. Of course he was, all his cases were solved. Nothing new was happening. John was out with some new girl (a store clerk, how boring), so Sherlock couldn't bother him. Sherlock, the brilliant genius, was bored. He was _so_ glad when Lestrade texted him, saying there was a new murder. Grabbing his coat and scarf, Sherlock walked into the night to hail a taxi.

...

Stepping into the police-infested alleyway, Sherlock hesitated for a millisecond and raised an eyebrow. What was a 20... 25 year old woman doing here?

She had curly black hair that bounced when she walked, a deep maroon-ish purple trench coat, and a suitcase decorated with neon orange duct tape in her hand. She obviously just got here from somewhere a ways away and was planning on staying a while. Probably visiting someone. She was built like a gymnast or a martial artist, as if she had been working out regularly for a few years. Her back was to Sherlock, so he couldn't tell who she was, but she seemed familiar somehow. The color of her coat was one he hadn't seen anywhere else, almost like it was hand-made..

Lestrade walked up to him, "She just won't go away. Won't tell us who she is or anything. Says she can do the same thing you can, all that deduction and whatnot. Just, ignore her or something? We'll get her out soon," Sherlock gave no indication that he heard and kept walking.

The crime seemed to be a simple open-and-shut murder. Victim was in her late teens/early twenties, right handed - she had things written on her left, - in college, cheating on her one, two, three boyfriends. There's the motive. Stabbed through the stomach, bled to death. Gruesome way to die.

He knelt down and looked at her phone, (locked with the pass code 0000. Come on.) and saw he was right. Flirtatious pictures were there of three separate men, and one named "Tony" texted her an hour ago telling her to meet him in a café two blocks from here.

The girl stood up from kneeling at the other side of the body. "Late teens, college, three boyfriends, one of them called Tony Johnson killed her because she was cheating on him with two other guys," The second she started talking, he recognized who she was. He was actually slightly angry he didn't realize it sooner...

"Astrid," Sherlock greeted curtly.

"Sherlock," she said with equal curtness. Her watch was off by six hours, so she couldn't have been back that long. She also had a slight American twang in her voice, though that was to be expected.

"Been back in London long?" he asked.

"No. Just got back a few hours ago. Mycroft was _overjoyed_ to hear I was back after these five years," she rolled her eyes. Looking him over for a millisecond, she said, "So, your new flat mate's out with a girl? No doubt you've been talking to that stupid skull again."

"He is not stupid, he is very useful at times!" he objected. How dare his little sister insult Skully!

"So, are we done here? I was hoping that since relations are... Tense at best with our dearest brother I could stay at your place. Please? Pretty please? Sherry, please?" She begged, using her name for Sherlock when they were young. She would've mentioned someone else she could stay with, but Sherlock may not like who it was.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Taking his phone out of his pocket, he texted John to come as soon as convenience allowed. Meaning immediately. They waited until he showed up with a taxi, and Sherlock turned to her.

"Please, be civil. He's the only one who can actually appreciate genius when he sees it,"

"Meaning he compliments you when you do something average for us," she interpreted. Sherlock internally groaned. He'd have to live with this again? Nooo...

The cab rolled up.

"Who's this?" John asked as they climbed in. Her movements were very fluid and graceful, like she was dancing. She reminded him of River Tam from _Firefly_, an American sci-fi show one of his friends convinced him to watch. Except this girl had curly hair.

"Astrid," she said politely yet bluntly and offering her hand, "Nice to meet you, Dr. Watson. Love the blog. It lets me see how big his head is getting!"

"Sherlock, what are you planning? We can't just take this girl with us!" John said.

"Pshaw! Of course not, you idiot," Astrid insulted, "I'm coming with you. Very different!" Sherlock rolled his eyes again and quickly filled John in on who she was.

...

The drive to 221B Baker Street was rather... Unusual to say in the least. Astrid would not stop talking! Once she and John got on the topic of all the strange habits Sherlock had ("he had a head once! In the fridge! A bloody head!" "Oh, was he measuring the coagulation of saliva after death? I did that once, got kicked out of the house for a week! Had to take the head with me. Could you believe the looks I got?"), he could not take it anymore.

"Would you two _please_ stop that infernal chattering! I swear, you're going to drive me insane!" Sherlock shouted.

"Ooh, someone's grumpy today!" Astrid mocked, "Is he always like this?"

"Yes. Constantly. He'll ask you to breathe quieter if he's thinking," and they laughed a bit, but respected his wishes.

...

"Sherlock, sweetie! Oh, picked up a little friend, have you?" cooed Mrs. Hudson.

"Mrs. Hudson, this is Astrid. She's my little sister. She'll be staying the night, I hope you don't mind the couch," Sherlock said to her then to Astrid, pushing past Mrs. Hudson and in the door.

Astrid shook her hand, "How do you do?"she said politely yet bluntly (again) and without emotion. Sherlock squinted slightly at this; she was so different from in the taxi. Oh, so now she acts like a Holmes...

"Sherlock, you can't make her take the couch! If you want, you can have - " John started, but she interrupted.

"No, I'm fine. The couch will be just fine, thank you," said Astrid swiftly.

They entered the flat and Astrid looked around.

"Very nice. _Love_ the decor," she said, gesturing toward the experiments on the table. Moving to the fridge, she opened it. "Sherry, don't you have _any_ food? You don't expect me to eat this, do you?" she pulled out a jar of ears. Laughing, she placed it back in the fridge.

"You know you weren't going to eat anyway, you're a Holmes. We don't eat," Sherlock stated the obvious.

"I know! I just wanted to see what your social life was like. Obviously not very good," she plopped herself down on the couch after being swatted off her older brother's lap.

"Ok, how do you get his social life out of what's in his fridge?" John gave in.

"He has no food other than what you've bought. The fact that he has experiments that need constant checking proves that he has nothing to do. He is constantly asking you to go get stuff, and sometimes you have to force him to eat. I know, because I'm the same. Runs in the family. Why do you care?" she relayed rapidly.

"Well, he often explains how he got his answers, but doesn't seem to care about social lives. You're different!" Watson exclaimed, defending his case. He couldn't help but feel anything but inferior with two Holmes in the room, and the youngest one staring him down like that...

"Sherlock, I like this one. You should keep him!" she smirked, trying to sit on his lap again.

"Astrid! Get off of me!" Sherlock mock-yelled, grinning.

John marveled at how well they got along. Their relationship was so much better than Sherlock and Mycroft's; they were playful, they got along, and Sherlock was showing some _emotions_! Actual, _human emotions_! They were laughing and grinning, and John soon found himself laughing and grinning along with them.

**A/N: (I'm getting tired of writing all these ANs...)**

**Yes! Score! A Sherlock fanfic by your favorite author! *bows* One more story and then I can go play with my presents... (I got Super Paper Mario for the wii) I hope you like it!**

**-CJA**


	2. Pop Tarts, Just Pop Tarts

**Chapter 2**

**Pop Tarts. Just... Pop Tarts.**

John woke up the next morning to find Sherlock and Astrid in identical Thinking Positions, hands pressed together in a prayer-like pose.

"Tough problem?" John said, not expecting an answer. To his surprise, Astrid replied.

"Nope, I'm just copying him. Not much fun since he's ignoring me, but whatever. There's food in the cupboard I duct taped green. Not the food, the cupboard. I hope you like Pop Tarts," she laughed.

John grinned and looked at the cupboard and saw it was lime green. Violent lime green. Opening it, he jumped back as boxes upon boxes fell on top of him. He let out a shout of surprise, shaking Sherlock out of his thought bubble. Astrid started giggling.

"John?" Sherlock said, slightly worried but doing his best not to show it, "What happened?"

"YOUR SISTER'S POP TARTS ATTACKED ME, THAT'S WHAT HAPPENED!" John shouted. Astrid fell off the couch because she was laughing so hard. Sherlock shot a piercing glare at his sister. She ignored it. He growled slightly. She got the message.

Still chuckling, Astrid Holmes went into the kitchen and picked up all the boxes. Hot fudge, S'mores, Vanilla cookie, Wild grape... There was even a box of Unfrosted blueberry! Eew! How that got there, she'd never know...

Sherlock walked in to check on his experiments. "What did you to my cupboard?!" he bellowed.

"I designated it! That cupboard is for food, not experiments! I thought John'd like it, at least," she explained herself.

Sherlock looked at her for a second, then burst out laughing. Astrid did as well.

John stared at them, absolutely perplexed. After a second, he joined them, realizing that was actually a hilarious predicament to have happen. Come on, boxes of Pop Tarts falling on him? Ha!

...

"So, Sherry! Please tell me you have a case! Please?" Astrid begged. She was sitting upside down on the couch, hair on the floor and bare feet against the wall.

"No, I don't. Unless you want to investigate that open-and-shut murder some more - what did you call it, John? - you'll have to wait," he was sitting at the kitchen table, dissecting microwaved eyes.

"Or I could call Lestrade..." she listed to herself, "Or I could go kill someone myself, but that's a terrible idea. I'd know who the killer is! Ooh, I could call Jim, but I'd know that, too. I could just talk to him..."

Sherlock and John looked up, "You know Moriarty?" they said in disbelief.

"Oh, yeah! We're great friends! I... Uh... I helped plan some of the Reichenbach Fall and the first time you met him... I didn't know it was against you! Just plotting..." she trailed off, embarrassed.

Sherlock stood and stalked over to her, silent as a fox, "You. Planned. That. Oh, of course! I could've sworn I recognized your style! That was you in the beginning, with the painting? And the letter, Bohemian stationary? And at the end... You wrote that story he read, didn't you!"

"Yeah..." she was embarrassed that she was partially the cause of his "death"!

"Oh, that part was brilliant! That didn't also happen to be your voice, as the kid, was it?" he jumped around the room, not unlike how he does when he says 'Oh, it's Christmas!'

"Yeah, that was me! You like my acting? I didn't actually have any bombs strapped to me, I was just talking into an earpiece. And, ooh, you'll love this; the people we actually blew up were people that were charged with murder or other crimes. Ones you didn't catch yet. And yes, we were hanging out and watching Dexter when we got the idea!"

Sherlock smiled, only his little sister could make friends with another genius like Moriarty! He continued smiling at her befuddled expression.

"Why aren't you mad? I mean, I'm glad you aren't, and I know that was some pretty genius stuff I did, but _what_?"

"Only my little sister could make friends with a man like that!" he laughed.

**A/N: Haha! Aww, poor John! Having Pop Tarts attack him! Based on a true story. I went to my friend's house and there was a cupboard labeled DO NOT OPEN in duct tape. So, being me, I opened it and was attacked by Pop Tarts and pudding cups. Ooh, I should go eat some pudding... See ya, I need to go find pudding now!**

**-CJA**


	3. Umbrellas and Guns

**Chapter 3**

**Umbrellas and Guns**

It was raining. Hard. What place drenches you at 11:45 in the morning? London, she supposed. She had been at Baker Street for about two weeks now. And she was still sleeping on the couch- sofa. On the sofa.

Astrid was sitting under the tarp at the door of the cafe-thing, waiting for Lestrade (he wanted to talk to her about rejoining Scotland Yard), when a car rolled up and stopped next to her and opened the door, obviously wanting her to get in. Deciding it was better than the rain and deducing it was either Mycroft or Jim, (based on the expensiveness of everything on it), she got in.

The woman in the seat next to her was texting. Definitely Mycroft.

"Anthea, is it? Tell me, where is Mycroft taking me now?" she said. No answer. Alright.

Taking out her phone, she texted Sherlock: _Mycroft picked me up. Don't come looking for me, unless I'm needed or you don't hear from me in a half an hour. Watch my experiments, please. ~AH_

When they showed up at the mansion, Astrid walked out and laughed. There was Mycroft with the umbrella, and a dozen soldiers, all with guns pointed at her.

Laughing, she spoke while raising her hands above her head. "Hello to you too, my dearest brother. How are you this fine day?" it was still pouring rain.

"We cannot be taking any risks like last time, now can we, dearest sister? Don't you remember? You tried to kill me!" he said.

"I tried to get a piggyback ride! I missed you!" she exclaimed in her defense. She didn't show that she minded the guns, but they were bothering her a great deal. It is rather unsettling having a dozen guns pointed at you by your brother's men. Guns, she could handle. Not having her brother trust her, she couldn't.

"Well, you're not doing that again, are you?" he said.

Astrid grinned, just to spite him, "So, how's the diet?" she laughed. She often used humor to diffuse tension, unlike anyone else in her family. They all swore she was somehow adopted.

"You should spend a bit less time around Sherlock; he is not a good influence on you!"

"Says my older brother with a platoon of gunmen ready to fire at me," she was getting fed up now. Fed up and tired of this game. Using her time as a member of an elite group in the FBI, she measured up each and every one of the twelve men in the group. Now just to wait for the right moment..

"Astrid, don't you dare do anything rash that you'll regret later!" Mycroft warned. It was clear he was scared of what she could accomplish.

"I could have you pinned and all of your men disarmed by the time I counted to thirty!" she laughed. She was about twenty feet away, so a correct estimate. Taking rain into account, she'd have to switch her technique from dodging around to a frontal attack.

"Nobody could do that," he scoffed.

She laughed a maniacal laugh and began to count slowly, "One... Two..." she dropped her hands and sprang into a cartwheel, kicking the nearest man in the face, knocking him unconscious. Standing up, she elbowed another in the neck, making him fall. Ten left.

"Three... Four..." the others around her began to realize that she wasn't where she was a moment ago. Looking at where two of their comrades fell, they all saw her at the same time.

"Five... Six..." with a standing butterfly kick, her foot connected with the jaw of another man. Nine left.

"Seven... Eight..." one person jumped her from behind and wrapped an arm around her neck. She reached up and behind and grabbed his helmet and propelled him up and over her head. Using that momentum, Astrid ducked into a roll. Eight left in eight seconds.

"Nine... Ten..." still in a crouch, she kicked out a leg and knocked a man to the ground. She heard his head crunch as it hit. Seven left.

"Eleven... Twelve..." picking up one of the discarded guns, she wielded it with a passion. The remaining seven people took a step back. They had formed a circle around her.

"Thirteen... Fourteen..." lashing out, she hit the man directly behind her in the head (he was short), spun the gun around, and hit the person in front of her in the chest with the butt of the gun. Five left.

"Fifteen... Sixteen..." the remaining five men were astounded at how she could do something like this. They didn't want to fire in case they shot their friends across the circle, and they didn't really have hand-to-hand combat experience. They were hired to look threatening!

"Seventeen... Eighteen..." in a blur of limbs, she struck the two men in front of her in the throat with a tiger-style move, clawing them and actually ripping the flesh. Thank God for long nails. Three left.

"Nineteen... Twenty..." the remaining men stepped back. Using that hesitation, Astrid kneed one in the groin and kneed another in the solar plexus. They fell to the ground. One left.

"Twenty one... Twenty two..." the remaining man was a coward. Or very smart. Raising his hands, he signaled surrender. He even dropped his gun. Astrid kicked him under the jaw, knocking him out.

"Twenty three... Twenty four..." since she had been making her way over to her brother in the first place by starting on the right and moving left, she was quite close to him now. He had of course tried to move away, but to no avail. Reaching out, she grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back.

"Twenty five!" Astrid knocked his legs out from under him and forced Mycroft to the ground. "I lied. Twenty five counts," she told him, only slightly out of breath.

Mycroft growled under his breath. Looking around, she looked at what she caused. Twelve men were lying on the ground. Some were bleeding, some were unconscious, and perhaps two were dead. Barely batting an eyelash, she let Mycroft up. She had seen much, much worse before. She was, after all, a weapon. Astrid growled at the thought.

"Why did you call me here?" she asked, voice low and menacing and now very angry.

Standing and dusting off his expensive jacket, Mycroft explained, "I brought you here to see what you could accomplish. You've been gone for quite some time, Astrid. Things have changed. Perhaps now you will accept my offer? It still stands, you know,"

"No, Mycroft. Even though you hold a 'minor' position in the government of every developed country in the world, I will not be your personal bodyguard. I don't care how much you'll pay, I don't care what I'll be doing, the answer is still no. And this was just another test, wasn't it?" she nearly screamed. She had been turned into an assassin, so she wasn't going to do anything to let the dammed training take her over.

"Well, perhaps you'll change your mind with this," he said, calling someone outside. A servant/housekeeper/whatever carrying a laptop with an umbrella over it. Astrid raised an eyebrow but did not move from her place. It had a four second video on loop of her knocking out five men. Blackmail.

"You're not honestly thinking of blackmailing me, are you?" it was still pouring rain and she was soaked. And bored. So she walked away. Childish, perhaps, but a logical thing to do. Astrid could hear her brother calling her name over and over again, but she didn't pay any attention.

Walking for almost an hour, she finally got to a part of civilization that wasn't billionaire's houses, she hailed a taxi.

"Where to, love?" the cabbie asked in a distinct cockney accent.

"221B Baker Street, thanks," she said.

"... Ain't that the house crazy person Sherlock 'Olmes lives in?"

Astrid was getting even more mad. She was already upset at Mycroft, and now this idiot was calling her brother a crazy person? "No. It is not the house of 'crazy person' Sherlock Holmes, it is the house of the my older brother Sherlock Holmes," she spat, "Now, if you please, take me to 221B Baker Street!"

"Well, that's gonna cost you, Ms. 'Olmes," he snarled as well, "More than usual,"  
Checking the pockets of her purple trench coat, she realized she didn't have any money. Growling some more, she left then and there. Groping around in her pockets, she tried to find her phone. Taking it out, she contemplated texting Sherlock to come find her, but realized he'd just tell John to go get her instead.  
Calling John and skipping a step, she took a deep breath and tried to calm herself before she talked to him.

"Astrid? Where were you? We've been worried sick!" John exclaimed.

"I'm fine. I've only been gone two and a half hours longer than I expected. Please come and pick me up, I don't have any money for a cab," she exclaimed calmly.

"Ok, I'm on my way. Where are you?" the army doctor asked.

"Corner of _ and _. Please hurry, it's pouring," she groaned, "And tell that stupid consulting detective friend of yours that we're going to give Mycroft the silent treatment until he apologizes for having twelve men point a gun at me,"

John gasped, "Wait, wha-" but she cut him off by hanging up. Moving over to the curb, Astrid Holmes sat down and waited. Her coat was soaked. This couldn't get much worse if it tried.

...

"Ok, Astrid, explain what happened one more time, please?" Lestrade asked her. When she told John in the cab, he texted Sherlock and Lestrade and told them they'd be at Scotland Yard. Specifically, Lestrade's office.

"Mycroft's people picked me up and brought me to his manor. When I stepped out, there were twelve men with guns pointed at me. I took them out easily, (might have killed two) -"

"How long did it take you to get out?" Sherlock asked, curious and wanting her to show off. Surprisingly, everyone ignored the fact that she just said she may have killed two.

"Twenty five counts," she groaned. Rolling her eyes, putting a hand on her face and throwing her head back hopefully gave the impression that she didn't want to be here. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

"Twenty five seconds?!" Lestrade and Donovan exclaimed (she was lurking in the background, listening in).

Astrid shook her head, black curls bouncing. Correcting them, she said, "Technically, it was twenty eight seconds, but I counted slowly -"

"You took out twelve men with guns and pinned a government official in less than thirty seconds?!" Lestrade shouted incredulously. It was very unbefitting for a DI.

Sherlock looked at her and placed a hand on her shoulder. Everyone looked at him because that was completely out of character. Ignoring their looks, he spoke, "I think you were going easy on them. You could have had them all out unless than twenty,"

Slapping his hand off of her, Astrid gave him the death glare and ran out the door. If he was going to treat her like that, like she was just a weapon, she'd just go to Jim's!

**A/N: Screw it. I know this is unrealistic, but use some imagination!**

**I have a poll up, and I would appreciate it if you'd go look! And review!**

**-CJA**


	4. Chocolate Shakes, Chips, and Batman

**Chapter 4**

**Chocolate Shakes, Chips, and Batman**

"Astrid!" he said, happy she was here, "I missed you! It's been five years, eight months, twelve days, and nine hours since I saw you in person last,"

"Hullo, Jim," she said, wiping a tear from her eye. Something bad had happened to her, Jim could tell that much. Ushering her inside, he called for someone to bring tea for the two of them.

Once they had their tea, it was nearly 3:00 pm. Jim Moriarty and Astrid Holmes were sitting on the couch next to each other. "Want to tell me what's up?" he asked.

Taking a deep breath, she began, "Ok, so, today Mycroft's men picked me up and brought me to his house. He was standing there with twelve men with guns pointed at me,"

"Pointed _at_ you?" he gasped. She nodded.

"I took them all out in twenty five counts, twenty eight seconds. I killed two of them..." she erupted into tears.

Not because she had killed, but because she was becoming the exact thing she left America for. She was turning into a weapon. Hell, she was one already! She could use any weapon given to her, and if she had never used it before it would take her less than a minute to figure it out. Astrid had killed rooms of people for no other reason than she was told.

Jim pulled her into a hug and started rubbing her back. He wasn't quite sure what was going on, but he knew it was bad. Nearly a half an hour passed before she stopped crying, and by then his Westwood suit had tear stains on it. But that didn't matter, what mattered was that she was ok.  
"Want to watch a movie?" he asked, grabbing the remote for the 92" flat screen. She nodded, not trusting her voice.

...

"BWAHAHAHAHA! Come ON! LOOK at that CGI! And their VOICES!" Jim guffawed, laughing at the movie they were watching. It was a bit unprofessional, but so worth it. He could always relax around Astrid; she just had this aura that let people be themselves!

Astrid was clutching her stomach, laughing just as hard. Clearing her throat, she mocked, "I'm Batman," in a deep and gravely voice and they erupted into laughter once again.

Speaking between reels of laughter, Jim chuckled, "I mean, it's completely impossible for Two-Face to have fallen into oil and have exactly half of him burned off!"

Continuing where he left off, she said, "And the accents! They're so annoying! I can't understand a thing they say, and I've been there for six years!" she was feeling immensely better and was curled in a comfortable position on Jim's lap.

"Oh, oh, listen to this!" he said, shushing her.

_**"Why's he running, Dad?"**_

_**"Because we have to chase him,"**_

_**"He didn't do anything wrong,"**_

_**"Because he's the hero Gotham deserves, but not the one it needs right now. So we'll hunt him. Because he can take it. Because he's not our hero. He's a silent guardian, a watchful protector. A dark knight,"**_

"That has got to be the stupidest last line of a movie ever!" Astrid exclaimed. Jim wholeheartedly agreed.

...

Almost a half an hour later, a servant person carried in some food for Jim and Astrid.

"Finally!" she exclaimed, jumping off the couch and grabbing the food. She took a chocolate milkshake off his hands as well. Plopping herself down on the couch once more, she opened the lid of her shake and dipped a chip in and scooped up some of the delicious drink. Popping to in her mouth, she let out a groan of pleasure from eating what has become her favorite food.

Jim looked at her like she was crazy from his place by the servant. He nearly dropped his soda.

"Wha?" she mumbled around a mouthful of chips and milkshake.

"What are you eating?" he asked incredulously.

"Chips and a milkshake. Yummy. Why?" she said with a glare.

"... Ok..." Jim said hesitantly. He sat down on the other side of the brown leather couch, eying her warily.

"Wha's wrong?" she said, mouth stuffed once again.

He asked, "Is that an American thing?" and she nodded a bit.

"It is, and it's delicious so don't you _dare_ dis it," she said, scooping up some more of the sweet chocolate elixir with the beautifully salted chips.

"'Dis'?" he laughed, mocking her slight American accent. She threw a chip at him with surprising aim and it landed in his chocolate shake.

**-CJA**


	5. Another Drug Search?

**Chapter 5**

**Another Drug Search?**

"Bye, Jim! Thanks again!" Astrid waved, pulling on her coat and walking out the door.

"Good bye! Are you sure you don't want a ride?"

"Nah, it's fine, I'll walk. It's only like three miles. Besides, I'll get a cab if I need one," she smirked. He had slipped some money into her pocket when he thought she wasn't looking. Giving him one last hug, she turned and walked down the winding driveway, only pausing to let the gates open.

It was now dark out and the only light came from the spattering of streetlights here and there. No matter, Astrid could see fairly well in the dark and she had memorized the maps long ago. She kept walking for two miles before anything remotely exciting happened, and even then it wasn't all that exciting. A couple were arguing outside a cafe. Blah, domestics.

Reaching for her phone, she texted Sherlock and told him she would be there presently. John then began texting her, worried for her and wondering where she was.

_I was with a friend. ~AH_

**Can I know who they are? Or not?**

_Jim. You can tell Sherlock he says hi. ~AH_

**... Ok, now he's smashing things... **

_Who's things? ~AH_

**Anderson's. **

_What's he doing there? ~AH_

**"Drug search." Again. **

_Let me talk to him. ~AH _

She then called John and gave him quick instructions after asking him something.

"John," she said quickly, "Is Lestrade there?"

"No, why?"

"I have a plan. Pretend I'm him. Act how you would when talking to him on the phone,"

"Uh, sure, Detective Inspector," he replied, already playing along.

Disguising her voice to match what she's heard of DI Lestrade's, she asked to speak with Anderson. Disguising her voice was actually very easy; she took classes on stealth and disguise in America, and Lestrade's voice was fairly simple without the individual quirks each person did.

"Anderson here,"

"What are you doing at Sherlock's house?" she barked in the man's voice.

"Um, sir?" he asked.

Did Lestrade tell him to go there? "Never mind that, I need you to come back to Scotland Yard right away, I've got a case for you,"

He was silent for a second. "For me?" he asked in disbelief. That quickly changed to scorn, "Do you want me to hand you over to the genius detective?"

"Nah, this is a case for my best man. It's top secret, so I can't give you any details over the phone. Just get over here now, and you might as well tell whoever else came with you to Sherlock's house to come back anyway. These drug searches haven't worked before, I don't think we'll get him now. Now hurry up and get here!" she said. A little bit of flattery never hurt, right?

"Uh, yeah, right away, sir! I'll be there in ten minutes," Anderson then hung up.

Astrid was right outside the flat now, and she passed Anderson and all his minions scurrying out the door. She raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything, keeping up appearances.

Astrid walked into the flat, barely hiding a giggle. "What's that all about?"

Sherlock spun around and looked her in the eye. Cocking his head to the side, he asked, "Where were you?"

"Jim's," she replied shortly, still upset about earlier, "What do you care?"

"Sherlock," John interrupted, warning tone in his voice. Or tried to, at least.

"I care because he murdered people. And got away," Sherlock continued.

"Well, at least he's nice," Astrid replied, glaring at him, "And doesn't make fun of my training,"

John sighed. This was going to become a fight, he just knew it. He had only seen one fight between them, and since they were both so stubborn, the only thing to do was drink an insane amount of tea and see if you could hear the telly. So he called Lestrade, talked to him for a bit about the series finale of Doctor Who, chatted with Mrs. Hudson, failed at watching telly and reading a book...

...

John walked out of his room after a much needed nap. To his surprise, there wasn't an arguing match going on in the living room. Peeking around, he saw Sherlock curled up on the sofa, asleep, and Astrid asleep in Sherlock's chair.  
She was rather cute, he had to admit, in the little-sister way. She was dressed practically the same outfit as Sherlock was. Dress shirt, dress pants, she had a black scarf and the characteristic purple-red trench coat hanging up on the rack. The major (and one of the only) difference was she had purple converse.

John had just received a text from Lestrade saying they found another corpse. He needed to get them awake to go investigate the murder!

"Sherlock," he whispered, shaking him awake. When that didn't work, he went to his room, closed the door, and shouted.

"SHERLOCK!" he screamed, as if his life depended on it. The detective was there in seconds, followed closely by his little sister.

"John? John! Are you alright?" he shouted, frantically trying to open the door. There was a thunk, and the next thing John saw was Astrid in an empty doorframe.

"... I at least had the courtesy to kick it _open_, not _down_," she said after realizing nothing was wrong. It took Sherlock slightly longer, though. He ran in, straight to John, and checked him over.

"You alright?" he asked.

John swatted him away, "Yes, I'm fine. I just needed to wake you two up. Lestrade texted me; there's been another murder,"

Sherlock sighed slightly with relief, "Oh, good. That's good. Where is it?"

Astrid raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. Yes, she saw how Sherlock was concerned for the army doctor. It was quite cute, actually.

"Office spaces next to _" John said, smiling slightly. Astrid smiled to herself. They were definitely together, even if they didn't realize it themselves yet.

"Alright then. Let's go," Astrid said, turning around and walking to the door to grab her coat. A plan was formulating in her mind, and she was going to need Jim's help with it. She was going to get her brother and that army doctor together if it was the last thing she did, dammit!

**A/N: Hello, my lovely followers! Sorry about the long wait. I won't give excuses, but it's pretty much over now! What do you think of Astrid Holmes: the Matchmaker? Yes, Jim is so going to help out. (I have a headcannon where he ships them and that's why he took John and strapped bombs to him, so he could try and make Sherlock see how much he meant to the detective)**

**-CJA**


End file.
